[Precisely because life experience ‘is’ required, there has never been a child prodigy in philosophy or poetry. The philosopher Martin Heidegger writes: the poet is one who has the courage to live in the destitution of his times. At a very tender age, Christopher d’Cunha witnessed and reacted to an event that changed his life. -ed.]
It was a sunny summer morning,
The sun was shining in the sky.
Was it a perfect day to play outside
Or the worst day of our lives?
I was playing with my best friend,
We were having so much fun,
Till the maid interrupted
And called me in for lunch.
When I finished my meal,
I came back to play
As a lost little rabbit would have done on this gloomy day.
Staring at this lamb who fell in a trap,
Like staring at the power of God's wrath.
All I heard was silence
The sweet sound of silence.
Now there's something about silence that makes me sick
'Cause silence can be violent
Sort of like a slit fist.
I found him there,
A few feet beneath the ground
In a pool not too deep
But deep enough for him to drown.
We pulled out an alien
His face was pale as if it were plastic
Sort of like a white man
With a tan.
His mother was informed
She ran out in tears
Only to find her sweetheart
As cold as ice.
Like a ragged old doll
Paralyzed.
She sat there with him in her arms
And wouldn't cease to cry
As a numbness crept over her
'Cause her little 'Raulu' had died.
It was a sunny summer morning
The sun was shining in the sky.
It was the perfect day to play outside
It was the worst day to die.
THE END